By M.D. Ward

Am I Blue

Am I blue?
Blue as the deep blue sea
Bottomless as space
I sink into the blues
and cease to feel.
I have become a color.
A mood.
My angel has fallen asleep for keeps.
Tiny devils run the show. 
They never sleep. 
They intrude
With rude and lewd babblings
At the back of my brain. 
All the noise of sixty years
Roars thru my head like a train
Screeching off a cliff. 
Yesterday was all a lie.
Broken hearts and broken promises. 
Broken dreams and broken souls walk and talk
And then just fade away. 
Memories are ghosts that we cling too. 
Chained together
like smoke they slip away
into the white.
Out of sight. 
But not out of mind. 
My mind is a rundown hotel
in the center of the universe
inhabited by cannibals.
Some want meat
some want soul
some eat your heart out
till it’s hollow and old. M.

Jellybone’s Blues

Jellybone, old Jellybone, he don't care.  He stares in the face of the
Reaper and laughs like a drunken Lord.  He has Nosed him before. He rips
off his scarlet scarf and stretches his throat against the red razor sky
The moon's scimitar gleaming white in black winter's night.  Hanging like
a crooked pendulum sinking slowing into the soul of Old Jellybone.  He
Howls and dares the Face to take whatever the Thief Time left.  And in
an alley blind the snow falls soft as angel tears upon a brow that
Sleeps forever under the stars.  Old Jellybone drunk, blind, and crazy
has died and gone to heaven. M




And Now

And now
I break into a billion pieces
the peace.
Hurry!
You are late.
A blue nightgown
Waits
in the willow trees
weeping diamonds.
I go
and the moon follows my shadow
into wooden dreams.
My compass is fixed.
I will be serene while I smother snakes.
The moment is all.
Hope is a Mother.
Hope is in a Box.
I got to bust out Hope.
  If just
for a moment.  M.

Click Clack

We almost had wings.  An angel pushed his pinky into our wax upper lips
and we forgot how to fly.  We forgot who we were. We forgot where we
came from.  That was the deal.  In order to play the human game we had
to forget.  Woe to them that Remember.  The train to nowhere is on track
rolling the dark and frozen zone and click clack go the holy bones as
snow falls white and sizzles steams of houligan dreams it's a red hot
train in the rain and no god can stop it.  No god No god. Just the
faintest memory. I know now what is going on. And so it's time for me to
go. Thank you for not taking me seriously. Have a safe trip. M.  

Just Track Record

There is no Trust. There’s just Track Record.  It’s a pill hard to swallow, but it will cure you of many ills. You got to stand-alone.  There is no Country you can trust.  There is no God you can Count on.  Listen to the wailing of the Jews as they were slaughtered by the millions and Tell me God gave a damn.  Listen to the blatant Lies of presidents and popes and fool yourself that they really think of you as anything but sheep or cannon fodder.  Man you are nothing but a number.  You better learn.  That your sitting in the middle of a madhouse and all you got going is your ability to perceive the truth.  The road darkens the deeper the forest. On every tree a crucified soul, on every leaf a living lie. A world filled with camouflaged zombies who never dared to think a thought that was they’re own.  Train from crib to crypt to conform to the whims of clowns and prigs.  You had better find yourself a comfortable corner and watch the show while you
still can.  Stay out of the way of the mob.  There full of snobs and slobs of all shapes and hues just dying to slice away a little of your soul.  They smell bad, but don’t tell them because then they will speak and your world will be polluted.  Live Unknown.  Don’t even be a thought.  Hide if you can.  Run if you must.  M.  

Hangnail

Your gait is too slow Joe
You got too go Joe
Back to the pillars of salt
You
Looked in the eye of
that pie in the sky
If is time to depart where the
Wind has no heart
And the rain never falls without pain
I will dropout
Of sight
And will bleed in the light. 
Bloodsoaked god
is dying slow
The last to go
He’s dying slow
You see him glow in the dark
In Spanish Harlem
You see him glow on the kitchen wall
You see him twitch in the heat
Sweating rubies
From his crown of rosewood thorns.
Yeah man, he's
Dying slow
Hanging from his hands 
Hands that carved crosses
Hands that
Craved crosses
Hands and Feet
Of Clay and Blood
Hanging in the ghetto
Hanging in the White house
Dying slow so slow
Resurrected without rest
To Hang for US.
What Monster could Create
Such a God? 
Look in the
Mirror. M.